Earth 616-B
by Kurusan
Summary: Peter Parker - quite literally - made a deal with the devil, assuming that things couldn't possibly get worse than they were. He was wrong.


The weaving of a world was such a curious thing. Or at least, Mephisto thought so. He sat at his desk, entirely unadorned by the trappings of the pit, fiddling with a pair of tweezers and doing his best not to sneeze and ruin all his hard work.

All around him, hovering in space, were the fruits of his labour. Fist sized orbs of light that pulsed and hummed in time to the inhuman heartbeat of the abyssal fiend working with them. Each one contained a fixed point in time. An unavoidable event that served as a keystone for the reality in which it was born. These keystones were the fundamental building blocks of time and space. To remove or change one was to bend existence itself to your will.

Each keystone was linked by a feather light tether of energy. An energy that had an almost silken quality to it, that swayed too and fro in an immaterial breeze. From one to the next and back, in a tremendous web. A web of life. And it was a single pair of these events that Mephisto was so carefully picking away at. Worrying away the thin threads of causality that bound them to each other. It was a simple request really, at least, it was for a being that was capable of stopping time and rewriting reality as Mephisto presently was. Peter Benjamin Parker had, in exchange for one of the purest, strongest loves known to the world, asked that his identity be hidden, and his Aunt, by virtue of such, be spared the gruesome death she inevitably suffered for it.

"Almost... almost..." Mephisto mumbled, plucking away at the threads until a single moment fell free from the web of existence and in to his outstretched palm. It was not a physical object, for all the mundane office surroundings would imply. It was but a single moment in time. A man and a woman walking up the aisle of a church together, resplendant in wedding attire.

Mephisto caressed the orb gently, pleased with his work. Now that his prize was secure, he could begin rearranging things. If he began time and allowed reality to play out as it currently lay, it would fall apart at the seems. Something that a number of ancient compacts explicitly forbid him from doing. Not that he ever would. He didn't feed on misery persay, but as a Hell Lord, perhaps even _the _Hell Lord, he certainly enjoyed it. And nothing generated misery like humans. And humans, quite unfortunately, required causality to exist.

Much more relaxed now, Mephisto began to pluck and rearrange threads. He could put things back just as they were, with only minor alterations, but he had somewhat underestimated the importance of his prize to this reality. More than just a keystone it was something of a lynchpin. And it's removal neccesitated a somewhat more comprehensive approach. In short order he shuffled events about, before deciding to cut back on his potential work. He _rewound time_, watching with satisfaction as events that changed the course of history faded from view. Then he began to pluck away, adding a bit here and there to stabilize the structure. Some fear, some hate, and some hope. The hope, Mephisto thought, was important.

Give a human hope and they would generate misery and sorrow far long than they would had they nothing to work towards. It was almost ironic really. The same thing that made life worth living, was the thing that provided humanity with some of its darkest moments. Would Hitler have slain millions if he didn't see a bright future for Germany ahead? Would Oppenheimer have pioneered nuclear energy if he did not imagine a future where it replaced coal and gas?

It was at the exact moment that Mephisto was distracted by these thoughts, that a spider made its way onto the desk, and crawled its way towards Mephisto's prize. So small and beneath the Hell Lords notice was the arachnid, the he never even noticed when the little thing dug a tiny leg into it, and withdrew something. What the spider had withdrawn of course, was the most important part of the lynchpin. What the little spider had taken from the wedding of Peter Parker and Mary Jane Watson, was not the wedding itself, or the congratulations, or the dress or even the ring.

It had withdrawn _love. _A love so strong and pure that a lord of Hell itself had been willing to rewrite reality to obtain it.

It must be understood, that the office was not real. Neither was the tweed jacketed man Mephisto was masquerading as. Nor was anything else in their surroundings. It was all but a fascimile, a construct designed to allow a sentient mind to function outside the bounds of reality while Mephisto made his malicious changes. And because of this disconnect, Mephisto's power was very temporarily weakened, bound up in the weaving of a word as it was.

And really, distraction was all the trickster god Anansi had ever truly needed to cause mischief. Sometimes benevolent, sometimes malicious, oftentimes both depending on where you were standing, the little spider - Anansi, plunged it's stolen prize into the new lynchpin Mephisto was crafting. It watched in silent interest as the force of the intrusion spread, like a poison throughout the web, completely unnoticed by Mephisto.

Never let it be said that Anansi didn't look out for his huntsmen, his totems.

At least, not when the after effects of helping could be _this funny_.

So without being noticed or even acknowledged, Anansi warped the world. And the little spider vanished from sight.

-ooo-

"Gah!" Peter gasped, lurching up from where he lay, enfolded by a soft blue blanket. He looked around, blinking confusion and sleep from his eyes. He was in his room. Well, the room at Aunt May's house that he'd lived in before moving out anyway.

He had the niggling feeling he hadn't moved out alone, and that this was somehow an important piece of information, but for the life of him he couldn't think of why.

Peter slowly slid from the bed, tossing the familiar blanket off of him and planting a bare foot against the carpeted floor. It was his room... but different. There were little changes that only someone who had lived here for years would notice. The laptop on the desk was new. Much nicer than anything he would have left at Aunt May's and just forgotten about. And the laundry. Why was there laundry everywhere? He hadn't lived here in years, so it made no sense for the room to look so... lived in.

"Peter? Are you awake up there?" A familiar voice called from downstairs. The voice was muffled by the closed door, but still unmistakable to Peter. Aunt May. Suddenly it all caught up with him. He had made a deal with Mephisto. Not for his soul, not as far as he could tell. For something else. Something he couldn't quite remember. Every attempt to remember the details caused his attention to shatter, and his mind to skitter away from the topic, sending him looking about the room anew, and causing him to nearly forget Aunt May's call.

"Peter?" Aunt May called again, her voice slowly shifting from cajoling to worried.

"Oh uh, yeah Aunt May, I'm just getting dressed!" He called down to her. Just saying the words was enough to wipe the lingering confusion from his mind. A warm feeling suffused his being and his heart began to hammer in his chest as excitement filled him. He hadn't felt this good in years. Not since he'd first figured out how to web sling - an experience that had firmly turned him away from bothering to get a drivers license.

Aunt May was alive and nothing else mattered. Aunt May was alive, and if Mephisto was to be believed, no one knew he was Spider-Man. His secret identity was once again safe.

He just wished he could remember what he had traded for it.

Looking down at himself Peter realized he was more or less naked save for a pair of - uncomfortably tight - plaid boxer shorts. He supposed it made sense. He must have come here at some point and just grabbed some of the clothes he used to wear as a teenager. Would explain the clothes laying all over the place too - he probably made the mess trying to find something to wear. It was an unfortunate truth that he frequently lost whatever possession he had on him when he had to rush to save the day. He never regretted it, but he number of backpacks and other miscellaneous articles of clothing he'd left in alleys over the years was... substantial. He was fairly certain there were dozens of homeless men and women wandering the city in his clothes.

He still remembered the moment it dawned on him that only his most loose fitting clothes would accommodate his newfound spider muscles. He'd ended up going to school in Uncle Ben's old sweats, which were actually one size too _large_. Flash had given him hell over that.

Well, it was only Aunt May downstairs, so he wouldn't be _too_ embarrassed wearing clothes that were one size too small - as long as he got to hug her again.

Firming his resolve he quickly thew on a t-shirt and sweats that had enough stretch to accommodate his bulk. Then Peter practically flew down the stairs of the small home, only barely maintaining enough presence of mind to keep his speed below superhuman levels.

When he hit the bottom of the stairs, it was to the sight of Aunt May puttering around the kitchen, carefully stacking pancakes on three plates and humming tunelessly to herself.

Peter could feel tears well up in his eyes, and with renewed vigor he lunged forward just as May had set the last of the three plates at the table. He scooped her up into a bear hug, being careful not to squeeze too hard, and smiled down at her confused face.

"Peter! What's gotten in to you!" May cried out in shock as he set her down.

"Nothing Aunt May. I was just... really glad to see you." Peter said sheepishly.

"Honestly, it's far to early in the morning for this Peter." His Aunt said, shaking her head in mock reproach. Peter could tell she didn't mean it, because even as she spoke she beamed up at him.

"Now, have breakfast and stop ignoring our guest. Unless you want to find your own way to school!" May said swatting him on the arm and turning away to head to her own seat at the table.

Guest...?

Peter turned gradually, until he found himself staring at a woman he was positive he had never seen before. She had long brown hair that fell about her shoulders in rivulets, and steely grey eyes that regarded him with barely disguised mirth and curiosity. She was wearing a soft lavender blouse that looked freshly pressed and cleaned, with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. She looked to be in her early twenties and held herself with a casual poise that came naturally to the children of the elite. All in all, she gave off the impression of a young professional who knew exactly what she wanted, and how she was going to get it.

"What's up Pete? First day of college got you freaking out?" The brunette questioned in a relaxed manner, her hands moving automatically to begin cutting into the breakfast Aunt May had plopped down in front of her.

"College? I graduated years ago Miss...?" Peter asked, a little frazzled by the complete stranger sitting in his Aunts house. The woman's eyebrows shot up in surprise and she turned away from the device she had been looking over - a tablet of some kind - to gape at Peter.

Then her expression morphed from surprise to mirth, and she raised both hands in a crude bond imitation and spoke.

"Osborn, Harriet Osborn - shaken not stirred." She said in a serious voice with a bad Scottish accent. Then she broke down giggling, and reached over to slap Peter's thigh, her hand lingering just a bit longer than was appropriate.

"Come on Parker, I know you mastered chemistry years ago, but you can't get a job without a degree, and these professors aren't going to pass you if you only show up on test days." The woman - Harriet - lectured him.

Peter stared blankly at her, ignoring the increasingly worried looks she was sending his way. Osborn. She had definitely just said Osborn. But as far as Peter knew, Harry didn't have any siblings. What's more, it was almost as if she _knew_ him, which for Peter at least, was most certainly not true. Peter was so engrossed in his thoughts that he didn't notice it at all when Harriet rose from her seat to place the back of her hand against his forehead, leaning in to invade his personal space. Her other hand landed on his chest, and she pressed into him, concern in her eyes.

"Pete? You okay?" She said, and Peter was struck by several things in that moment. One, Harriet - whoever she was - seemed to genuinely care about him. Two, up close she was gorgeous. It was pretty much all Peter could do to keep his eyes from drifting downward to her breasts - and that one button undone near the top of -

Nope. Eyes up. Focus.

Peter's gaze snapped up to Harriet's and he could swear he saw the barest hint of satisfaction there for a moment before she slid back into her seat and the worry overtook whatever it was Peter thought he was seeing.

"You don't seem sick but..." she said, her teeth worrying at her bottom lip in thought.

"I - that is, uh... I'm just... getting used to... everything." Peter said awkwardly, trying to find some excuse for his behavior that didn't end in him trying to explain the demonic pact he had apparently made and how that tied in to why he had _no idea_ who she was.

Or why he was apparently in college again. Or why - despite firmly remembering that he had moved out, he couldn't remember _where his apartment was_. Did whatever he traded to Mephisto entail him no longer having moved out? Could he do that?

'Stupid question Pete. He rewrote reality. _Of course_ he can do that. Now _why_ though...'

A frown creased Harriet's face, and Aunt May stilled in her seat where she had been watching the two of them interact with thinly veiled amusement.

"Peter... it wasn't your fault." May said after a moment. She leveled a fierce gaze on him and for a moment Peter remembered what it was like to be a kid again, being scolded for taking apart the toaster to get parts for an invention of his. May hadn't even been mad about the toaster at the time. No, Aunt May loved her nephew like a son and wanted more than anything else for him to be happy. So when she had scolded him then, it wasn't over the broken appliance - which Ben had replaced the next day - it was because he hadn't come to her in the first place. There was very little May wouldn't forgive Peter for. Still...

"I don't -" Peter began, slightly chagrined but not quite sure how to explain the fact that he _still_ had no idea what was going on.

"Ben didn't die because of you. He may have gone out to try and find you, but that _does not_ mean you are responsible for the actions of **that man**." May cut him off, her face going grim and her tone becoming frigid as ice at her last words.

"Speaking of which." Harriet chimed in, a note of false cheer in her voice as she clapped once and brought forth the tablet she had been poking at since she sat down that day.

"The guy who killed Ben? He died in prison yesterday. Stabbed by his cellmate in the shower." She said proffering the touch screen operated device to Peter who took it incredulously. On it was a news article dated September 3rd, 2016 entitled 'Dennis Carradine, Age 28, Murdered in Prison Two Days After Capture'. Peter wanted to be surprised - but he wasn't. He hadn't honestly kept track of the man who killed Uncle Ben once he had been arrested. It always seemed like an activity that wasn't all together too good for his mental health. After all, that had been the first time he had ever truly contemplated murder. He could still remember standing over the mans beaten bloody body, in that empty warehouse. _Feel_ his heart hammering and rage and sorrow warring within him. This, he had thought, was the man who had killed his Uncle. And if a man as good and kind as Benjamin Parker wasn't allowed to live, then why should _this_ thing?

And really, that was the thought that had broken him out of the loop of rage he had found himself in. The moment he had begun to mentally refer to another living thing as a 'thing'. Peter wasn't an expert on the topic but he knew well enough what a psychotic thought sounded like. The fact that, many years later, he would eventually encounter Cletus Kasady, who would sound much the same was more than enough to confirm the belief.

Still though, there was something off about this article. Peter's eyes unfocused while he thought, and in short order it dawned on him what the problem was. Peter was born in the early 80's. He was seventeen when he first started to play the part of Spider-Man. Seventeen when he caught and beat down Uncle Ben's killer. An event that - by his reckoning - would have occurred in 1997 or so. If the year was really 2016 then... shouldn't he be approaching forty? Why was he going back to college? More importantly, if Dennis Carradine had only been caught two or three days ago... did that mean he hadn't been Spider-Man _at all_ yet? Was that how Mephisto had managed to hide his identity? Reset time itself to before he ever really donned the mask?

"No one deserves to die Harriet." Chided Aunt May in response to the blase, almost wistful tone the woman had used to describe Dennis Carradine's death. But then she paused for a moment and shrugged.

"Still..." She whispered, a glassy eyed look coming over her face. Harriet said nothing, and Peter - who was still busy trying to figure out what was going on, looked up from the tablet at the sudden heavy atmosphere at the breakfast table. It occurred to him that if he had _just_ become Spider-Man... then Uncle Ben had only really been dead for a few days now. A week at most. Suddenly Aunt May's reassuring smiles and the relaxed atmosphere of the kitchen took on a whole new meaning in Peter's mind. They became forced, and brittle. Peter just hadn't noticed because - to him - this was a tragedy that had long since passed. Coupled with the fact that he could still vividly picture Aunt May's corpse, but was even now eating breakfast with her, he could be forgiven for not having noticed.

With a muffled groan he allowed his face to fall into his hands, thoroughly aggravated with the situation he found himself in. He felt like he had to do something, _anything _to be there for his Aunt. He remembered the early days all too well. Nights where he would wake up only to find her sitting blankly in Ben's favourite spot on the couch. Hearing her crying through the walls because of his enhanced senses. Watching every day as bill after bill after bill found it's way to the kitchen table. Bills that Aunt May just couldn't pay, not without Ben there to support her.

Which brought up a question that Peter didn't really want to ask, but felt he had to.

"I'm thinking of... maybe not going to college?" Peter brought up tentatively, eliciting a mixed reaction from the two women present. Harriet gaped at him dumbfounded, seemingly at a loss for words. Aunt May however, _glared_ at him, drawing a wince from Peter.

"Peter Benjamin Parker." May said sternly, all her previous melancholy forgotten. Peter had to restrain his urge to flee. It was more than just the money - though that was the primary reason for his decision.

It was the _time _he didn't want to waste. He'd been around long enough now to know he didn't really need to go to school. He didn't need someone to hire him because he could just start his _own _company.

Heck, if he had _just _started acting as Spiderman, he technically had knowledge of the future. Doc Oc? He could get Stark in contact with him, avoid his whole descent into villainy. Not to mention all the scientific advancements he'd had to make over the years just to keep up with his progressively more dangerous rogues gallery.

All this flashed through his mind, and even having firmly grasped what he _wanted _to do... he just couldn't bring himself to do it.

He really was kind of a momma's boy that way.

"Right, right. Sorry Aunt May it's just..." Peter said, his eyes darting to Harriet before returning to May's face, her jaw still set and determined.

"Can we... afford college...?" He said finally, shrinking into himself under the withering gaze his Aunt continued to level at him as he spoke.

"Oh is that all? Pete come on. We've been friends since middle school. There's no way my Mom would leave you hanging." Harriet said warmly, jumping back into the conversation.

At this point Peter had more or less guessed that Harriet was pretty much just Harry but a girl. That was weird but not entirely implausible given everything else going on. Sure it made the fact that Peter had to struggle to keep his eyes on her face extremely awkward, was taking in largely in stride. After all, he was now in a position to stop the Osborns from ever becoming Goblins. It wasn't a chance he was willing to pass up, even if he _really _hated Norman Osborn.

Which was why hearing Harriet say her _Mom _would be looking out for him worried him. Maybe this _wasn't _a female version of Harry. Maybe Norman had died and passed the company to his wife. Maybe she had remarried and Harriet was the result. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

Peter needed a damn crash course on temporal malleability, and he needed it _right now. _Still, better he not come across as confused right now.

"I don't know if I'm comfortable accepting that kind of charity." He said firmly, sure of that one thing if nothing else.

"It's not charity Pete. It's a scholarship. One you _earned _by being the smartest kid in the city." Harriet huffed, and Peter got the distinct impression this was a topic of conversation that probably came up quote often between the two.

Actually, shouldn't he have past memories of this reality instead of maintaining his old ones? If he kept meeting people he was supposed to know but didn't it was going to get really suspicious. How did the Chameleon do this all the damn time?

"And I'm sure there's no nepotism at play there at all." Peter pointed out patiently, turning away from May who had returned to eating in something of a huff.

"Listen Pete, someone was going to get that scholarship. Might as well be you. It's not like you didn't earn it. If it makes you feel any better all the final applicants are supposed to have an interview with Mom. You can come have dinner with us this weekend if your so interested in it being 'fair' " Harriet said dryly, raising her hands to make quotations in the air around the word fair.

"I'm not sure eating dinner with your family counts as a formal interview..." Peter said obstinately. Honestly he was pushing back on this more than he probably should, but frankly he wanted time to sort things out before he sat down to talk to this universes equivalent to Norman freaking Osborn.

"If you want a serious interview so bad just offer to marry me. Mom will have a security team out here within minutes." Harriet said a bit testily.

Peter winced at the word marriage, and a deep sense of wrongness washed over him.

"That's - no thanks." He said putting his hands in the air in the universal gesture for surrender.

"I'm glad you've got that sorted out. Now go get dressed Peter. And where something that _hasn't _shrunk in the wash please." Aunt May admonished him, reminding Peter that he had come down the stairs in a form fitting sweatshirt and pants that left very little to the imagination.

"I mean I'm not _complaining..._" Harriet said her gaze flickering over Peter like a snakes tongue darting out to taste the air.

He didn't need any more motivation than that. With as much control as he could muster while being ogled by a gender bent version of one of his friends, Peter strode up the stairs two at a time.

He didn't bother going to his own room of course. He knew nothing would fit. So instead he - with a resigned sense of nostalgia - slouched into May's room to paw through Uncle Ben's clothes. His uncle had always been a... well fed... man. But Peter was used to slouching and using baggy clothes to hide the results of his spider bite, even when he really wished he didn't have to.

'Been down that road before Parker. You already know where it ends.'

Fifteen minutes and several piles of school supplies later, Peter walked down the stairs wielding his old worn backpack. He wore his old coke bottle glasses, a pair of very loose jeans, and a plaid button down who's sleeves he'd had to roll up to wear properly. Puny Parker once more.

When he arrived at the bottom of the stairs, Harriet nodded approvingly at him, then hugged Aunt May goodbye. It was at this point that Peter noticed the pencil skirt she was wearing, and was forced to thank whatever god was listening that his glasses - which no longer worked for him - blurred the bottom half of his vision enough to ignore the gentle sway of her bottom as she moved.

Peter was very careful to maintain a certain distance between himself and Harriet as they walked up to the car she had parked in front of the house. It wasn't an unfriendly distance. Just a respectful. The kind of distance two members of the opposite sex are wont to keep between themselves when not actively courting.

Harriet's sour expression, which grew more and more pronounced as they approached her convertible, should have been more than enough warning for Peter that he was doing something that bothered her, but he was entirely too busy gaping at the bright purple car to notice.

Suddenly developing a mischievous expression, Harriet stepped side wise towards Peter, reaching an arm around him to grapple his head and press it firmly against her chest.

"You like it? I used the first cheque from my startup company to pay for it. It's mine and mine alone. Not a drop of Mom in it." She said proudly, reaching up with her other hand to noogy Peter.

"Gah, Yeah it's - hey come on Harry, stop!" Peter whined. As much as the soft sensation pressing against his cheek was extremely noticeable, something about the interaction brought him back to a simpler time. A time when the pressure from his father to succeed and that damnable Goblin formula hadn't all but stolen his best friend from him.

"Only you could get away with using that insulting nickname like that Parker." Harriet growled playfully, putting her lips entirely too close to his ear.

"Aaaaaand now I feel like a jerk." Peter said apologetically, though for different reasons than might have been obvious at a glance. He really did feel bad after all. Weird nicknames aside - this wasn't Harry. And treating her like she was would he a disservice both to her and the memories of his first friend.

"Pfft. That's nothing. Remember when you tried to make me a cream to straighten my hair in 9th grade and it just made all fall out?" Harriet joked casually, releasing Peter from her hold and unlocking then starting the car.

"I imagine you weren't all that happy with me at the time." Peter stated dryly.

"Nope. I swore you were going to be paying me back for that one _for the rest of your life _Pete. Watch your back, cus someday I'll come to collect." Harriet chuckled, pulling out onto the road and heading toward the highway.

Peter felt a sudden chill run down and his spine at the words. There was something very dangerous about what she had just said, but he couldn't quite put his finger on what.

Oh well. Spider Sense didn't act up, so it was probably nothing.

Probably.

**-ooo-**

**Consider this a throwaway pilot for a series I ****_could _****do. I know almost everyone that cares about spiderman hated the whole sell your marriage to satan deal, but It makes for a good entry into an elseworlds story. **

**The premise here is pretty simple. Insanely simple. All of spideys villains are crazy chicks now. Yandere ensues. **

**Yes I like that character archetype. No I dont have a problem. Get off my case. **


End file.
